The Last Straw
by Zerabell Blackborn
Summary: Through a device of her own creation, Remus and a team of Aurors are witness to an attack by a plagiarizing would-be thief. When things have settled down three days later, Hermione bullies her way out of Healer care and into Remus’s capable hands. EWE AU.


**Disclaimer:** _The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

**Warnings:** in which I introduce the obligatory time-loop scenario and technical mumbo-jumbo that is the bane of a dedicated Art Major. The story takes place in an Alternate Reality where OoTP might have happened, for the most part, as JK would like it… but ignores a good portion of HBP and renders DH useless. A few casualties remain the same, and this story is set years after any Final Battle. Written for lilbitbord through LJ's _rlhg_exchange_ community for May/June 2009. Original prompt: (1) Hermione is being stalked and (2) Remus moves in to keep her safe.

**Summary:** Through a device of her own creation, Remus and a team of Aurors are witness to an attack by a plagiarizing would-be thief. When things have settled down three days later, Hermione bullies her way out of Healer care and into Remus's capable hands. This incident was the last straw, but in the end, neither one complains. [PostHogwarts, EWE, AU.]

**Lead Beta:** _autumn_veela_ (a _very_ loud round of applause, please). Secondary Betas: _vaguely_aloof _and_ madam_mayfly_. All remaining mistakes are my own.

* * *

She sits there smiling, book in hand, looking for all the world as if this is any other day to be spent in leisure. She laughs, tucking a fuzzy string of curling hair behind a delicate shell of flesh. Her eyes are bright, the skin at their corners crinkled in a way that suggests a happiness he can not smell. It is a lie. Humans lie in a hundred different ways, with sly words and actions of betrayal. Some intentional, others not. Remus knows this, learned it the hard way so very long ago, but at this moment he finds himself surprised.

This shouldn't be so disturbing and he grows angry.

She glances up and her body moves, a languid stretch that makes him think of the way summer rain tastes on warm skin. There's a curve to her lips, a quirk that is a promise of mischief, warning any who know her that trouble lies ahead. The book slips from her fingers to rest in the position it had lain when he arrived; crooked, opened, a torn scrap of paper tucked between pages in the six hundreds.

It is useless. Her gorgeous mind draws upon connections others were unable to see. The book is nothing extraordinary, not even magical in nature, just a collection of children's fairy tales. He's seen her read it before, knows it had been a gift from her estranged parents before she had even heard of the world she took her place in.

There's a vibration in the air and he imagines the tune being hummed as she flits by. Her body passes so close he should have feel her reassuring heat, should be able to smell the soap she always uses, and the familiar orange and ginger body lotion that drives him wild. She presses so close that they should touch and he feels bereft with the emptiness of the cold space.

This is a lie. But the lie is his and this is nothing but a projection. An echo hours past and he feels the anger slipping, won't let go for despair. He's seen it played twice already and, if it weren't for the senses he has been shunned for, he could almost believe she was before him. It would be so easy.

Anger finds him again at the thought of human frailty and his eyes are surely those of a predator.

She takes no notice of her audience and travels from sunlit din to kitchen. He needs only to shift the weight of his feet to keep her in view. It is a small cottage, and he remembers the housewarming party that invaded her newly purchased home three years ago. Harry and Ron grinning on her stoop and talking her into letting them all help with moving furniture and putting things to right. Magic would have made a quick evening of it, but they all knew it meant more to her when done by hand and none had wanted to leave her alone at the time. A dark incident in the days before, one that had been the closest to losing somebody he cared for since the fall of Voldemort.

The kettle Hermione pulls down from a hanging island of intricate spelled iron had taken them three hours to figure out, a present from the once honorary –temporary– Minister for Magic and a pink-haired Auror who had just recently taken the name of Shacklebolt. He remembers Hermione's laughter as she watched how they muddled through instructions written in a language unknown, having stubbornly forgone the use of translation charms.

While the water boils she moves to the fridge on bare feet, pale fingers pushing magnets with an absentminded grace she would deny if asked. A smattering of coloured consonants and vowels form the only clue Remus is likely to be given, if only because they do not currently exist.

Like the book, the words have little meaning to him: _stillwater_.

Steam billows from the kettle's spout and Hermione starts, frowning a little as she pulls it off the burner to fix a cup of tea. Delicate china set aside to cool, she turns back to the kettle with a line between furrowed brow that quickly melts away to laughter. The grip of her wand hand loosens in her mirth.

Remus has the sudden desire to close his eyes in self-recrimination; she had treated his gift like a _prank_. And gods he wanted to do something violent, to claw iron and rip into the stone counter beneath his hand. To roar with impotent fury at her actions, to turn on the man standing next to him just because _somebody_ needed to pay.

Knuckles white, he watches. There is little else he can do.

The curiosity in her eyes is one he knows, just as he knows the determination taking its place. She would have spent the next several minutes studying the kettle, dissecting it with scientific observation and magic, until she knew what charms had been placed upon it. How to expel them, how to duplicate them, how to manipulate them into something more and turn it against him.

It had been a game between the two of them, a mutual agreement wordlessly spoken as they grew to know each other during the Rebuild. A harmless, healing war fought with innocent magic. To a Marauder, it is a part of camaraderie and courtship. To Hermione, who had been given the title of _Honorary Mischief-Merry-Maker_ by Sirius before he fell, it's a type of intellectual flirtation. It is a battle they indulge in from time to time as they dance about each other.

The slow trickle of affection and respect has expanded over the years to become something that fills him with a warmth he is now wholly dependant upon. He looks forward to her company, her smiles and the laughter they share. He believes she looks forward to these things as well.

Hermione would have figured out the many charms placed on the ordinary kitchen appliance. He'd like to think it would have taken her a few hours of careful study, but there is no doubt she would have decrypted the complex chain of magic if given time. He had worked on it with George, Fred and Harry when the days were long and uneventful. A combination of Auror security charms, proximity alarms keyed to recognize unidentified wand cores and then an added bit of whimsy. A kettle that whistled with words, a commentary on the weather outside that suggested the best match of tea, pairing the hour and the unexpected visitor. A prototype they wanted Hermione to have, on a lark, because she needed a new kettle after the Incident. The guilty party insisted and she relented. This must have been the first time she'd used it.

But no. She isn't treating their kettle like a prank, but as if it is malfunctioning. Her own alarms remain silent, expertly avoided or outmanoeuvered. This provides nothing but a confirmation. It was someone who knew her, someone who watched and waited. Who planned, but who was perhaps not known _to_ her.

Bone China shatters on a red patterned floor and dark tea splashes upon linoleum to reflect wand light; spell light. It looks like the blood he can smell. Despite quick reflexes that have faded only a little in the years since the war, she was overpowered in surprise.

There is nothing left to tell them who it was, who had assailed her. The figure appears male, but in a world ruled by magic, it would be impossible to make this a fact. It was definitely somebody who knew her, somebody familiar with the level of security employed. Somebody who knew enough about her work and the confidence she placed in her wards that would leave her vulnerable should they fail. A blind spot not easily exploited despite the scene playing before him.

Magnets scatter as Hermione is spell-pushed, the velocity of the curse sending her backwards. Her head hits the wooden cupboard before she sinks to keep the shattered porcelain and tea company on the floor. The image doesn't fade when she loses consciousness. This is not a memory viewed in a pensieve.

This is something _she_ had been working on when the days were long and uneventful. One of the many projects that had given her small, privatized company almost over night acclaim in the wizarding world. This is something she had cooked up when SmokeScreen Productions had been little more than a fortified room at Grimmauld. It had no practical application when the then ChloroLeoht Room had served as the Order's armoury and it hah been shelved until recently.

This had been her pet project for years. A baby secreted away from prying eyes and only in the last month uncovered with a prideful smile. A magical conversion of muggle recording equipment, seeped in the idea behind holographic projections and the exploration of an infallible penseive-memory. Something about crystals and resonance and enough spells and charms that had several explosions forcing her to redecorate her lab more than once.

Two weeks ago there had still been some 'bugs' that needed work. He had been shown a working prototype, one he would never have wanted tested in such a way. A prototype that wasn't predicted to be fully operational for several more weeks at the earliest. Had they known, she never would have been allowed to install the potentially dangerous rocks anywhere near the place she slept.

Harry would have outright denied her access to her home until she agreed to remove them, then watched over her shoulder in a manner that would have done Mad-Eye proud. Fred and George would have transfigured the crystal matrix into a portkey, sending her somewhere she really wouldn't want to be. But if _Remus_ had known she was taking such risks, well, the easiest course of action would have been to gather their team and inundate her sanctuary with spelled equipment from their labs.

He would have given it a day before she physically shoved them out of her cottage, exploding crystals and all. A day, maybe two.

The last time he had been present for preliminary testing, spell-fire damage had nearly totaled the small house on the impressively large estate, land that had been granted to them for just such experiments.

But while it had proved disastrous two weeks ago, she had somehow managed to 'decode and compensate for sporadic light fluctuations and redundant cycling of active magics' that had 'caused the instability'. She was nothing if not brilliant. Brilliant and beautiful and stubborn, and currently unconscious at St. Mungo's. They were lucky she followed procedure, but then she was known to follow rules of her own making.

The witch drove him crazy, she really did.

The projection continues. The bastard standing over her lifts his wand with an intent that _will_ get him killed. Remus moved the last foot to what he had finally identified as the main crystal and waited. He had only a few seconds before the loop started again. Another set back Hermione will have to tackle.

The curse glowing green at the intruder's wand tip never made it to the target. An automated, time-delayed portkey in the form of a bracelet snatchs Hermione out of the line of fire in a dramatic case of Just-In-Time. A safety precaution she insists all her people take when working at SSP, one that needs to be painstakingly calibrated to each individual. Something about electrical output and brain waves in Alpha, Delta, Theta and Mu Rhythm emissions. As the creator of the Electroencephalograpic Emergency Portkey she only needed to make a short stop in the right department at the Ministry to let them know she had made a new one, three weeks within origination to escape legal ramifications. There had been a triumphant smirk on her lips when she had told him about that last minute addition to the standard Clause of Patents. She gloated for weeks.

The image doesn't' fade here either. They still had one minute and eighteen seconds to go. Just long enough for the four-man, two woman Auror team and a seething lycan to watch as the Unidentified Wizard throws a small temper tantrum. The reality of a darkened cottage comes when the man spell-fires the toaster, pushing it back far enough to jostle one of the few 'collector' crystals in the kitchen. Quickly, before it has time to reset and trap them for another 48minute and 18second span of time, he vanished the main crystal.

Yes. There were still some 'bugs' that needed work yet, and if Hermione didn't kill him for the vanishing, he was going to insist on helping her.

Mission accomplished, he is unsurprised when several more Auror teams and a Hit Witch and Wizard storms in through the front and back doors. Unsurprised but still annoyed. It looks like they have a good third of the department here, waiting for the time-looped projection to end and allow those trapped inside the projection out and those outside her cottage in. He has been here for two hours and forty-one minutes real-time, separated from Hermione's bedside and the ability to lend a hand with the investigation outside the cottage.

Now that the Aurors are free they can hopefully come up with something useful; maybe Harry can trace the unidentified wand core with their kettle. He paces for several seconds before deciding they have enough people working to find the man. Giving a signal to the prettier Shacklebolt, and getting one from Harry, he quietly slips away to the hospital's entrance.

Remus would much rather be at his witch's side.

_________

Hermione spends the first few moments of consciousness trying to force too bright white into the soft buttery yellow color of her bedroom walls, the stiff mattress underneath her into memory foam, and the scratchy sheets tucked about her into prized Egyptian cotton. She has almost succeeded when the smell of anesthetic invades her senses and she gives up the exercise.

She has the sudden idea that it's going to be a very bad day. They normally are when she wakes up in hospital.

Gods her head hurts and there is definitely a pain-potion with her name on it. It could be worse though, and she wonders where everybody is. With slow movements she manages to work her way to the corner of the cot. There must be some type of alarm sensor because just as she is contemplating if cold feet would be worth finding somebody for the potion, a mediwizard walks in. One she has seen a few too many times, perhaps.

"Now, now Ms. Granger. I don't think you're quite up to moving about just yet, you weren't to be woken until tomorrow. Do you know where you are?" He looks and sounded grizzly, too loud and far too cheerful, but that probably has something to do with her headache. "Good, good. You have been here three days now. Can you tell me what you remember as to how and why you arrived?"

She wonders what it is about being a patient here that has them questioning her memories and motor skills. But, as long as he hands over that wonderfully tinted blue potion, she'll humor him.

"Yes, yes. Quite a bump you had when you first 'keyed in. Gave Iantha a scare again, you did, showing up so randomly in the Spell Damage ward's Transient Room. Quite impressive your inventions Miss, if you don't me saying, but maybe you could work in some type of warning system for us, eh? Now drink up, we have your medihealing potion-reaction history on file and we've double-checked it. No worries. There, that should help. Caused something of a ruckus with the papers, but then you would, what with the Quindecennial Victory Celebration being held soon and your several hundred thousand Galleon company spearheading wizarding gadgetry. Such delightful doodads."

Yes, the pain is gone but he is still too cheerful for her liking.

"Come now, back into bed. Head Aurors Shacklebolt and Williamson have left word that Aurors Shacklebolt and Potter have volunteered to serve as your escort home tomorrow at 1700. That leaves you quite some time, and as I have restricted visitation somewhat to cut down on the riff-raff, I would like you to do nothing but rest for the next twenty four hours."

Not bloody likely. "Were they able to apprehend Mr. Hearthsly?"

"I… I'm sorry, Mr. Hearthsly? Is that the wizard who attacked you? Quite right, I should go get the Aurors, hold on, one's just outside the door. No, no. Don't get up."

A red robe comes through the opened door, followed by the doctor. And while it might not be a Very Bad Day, it could easily be a long one. By the time she explains that _yes,_ Wesley Baron Hearthsly is the man she saw, and that _yes_ she is familiar with the individual, and _no_ she isn't positive why he did such a thing –as he had been a potential SSP employee years back that decided to work for her competition at the last minute, and wouldn't _she_ be the one to hold a grudge?- a hospital bound elf arrives with breakfast. The questioning came to an end and the Auror leaves to send word to whomever it is he reports to.

Apparently they have been unable to find Hearthsly in the three days she has rested in a bed at St. Mungo's, just his wand and an empty apartment. It is a thought that brings up a feeling of vulnerability and anger that revolves around the incompetence of Aurors who, really, should have found more in their investigation. Unwilling to lay about useless she sets her mind on leaving. She wants her cottage, the comforting smell of herbs and candles. And if she second-guesses her desire, for the attack had happened in her _kitchen_, it was quickly pushed aside with a stubborn resolve to leave the hospital.

It takes another four hours for Hermione to bully her way home under the strict orders of 'taking it easy'. Her personal Auror for the next few hours stands frowning as she signed her discharge papers, looking a little more agitated by the minute.

At the front desk she is nodding and trying to hurry the witch along as she drones on with post-care instructions. Ones she has already been through with Healer Robbards, and she can't help but think that this a waste of time. Finally when the witch pauses long enough for Hermione to consider herself free, she notices the girl's eyes are no longer focused on her and a hand upon her shoulder has her fingers twitching.

"Easy there." A voice sooths, the warmth of his hand trailing down her arm to pull her into a hug. "Now, I'm sure Healer Sean would be quite unhappy you're trying to escape."

"I- well. It's not escape, and MediWizard Robbards was quite ready to throw me out. There's nothing medically or magically wrong with me, and I'm sure they have much better things to do. A bit of healing sleep, a few pain potions and I'm good as new." Her words are spoken in haste as she leans back. "And I need to get home, right away. I've left, an… eh, well. It is imperative I go home right now. There's no telling what searching hands messed with. And Auror Raspian-" she nods to her shadow, who now looks somewhat relieved, "has been suspiciously silent."

Remus's brow lifts and his lips quirk in a smile.

"What are you doing here anyway?"

After looking at the receptionist to see if she is done with Hermione, he offers his arm and leads them out of the building, Auror Raspian trailing a foot behind. "Well, somebody had to collect you before you managed to talk your way out of watchful eyes completely. A little birdie was helpful enough to let us know you've awakened."

It isn't as if he is needed at the labs, the employees are self-starting and all projects were assigned months in advance. Plus, he had already been on his way for visitation hours.

"And as Harry and Nym are currently assigned and most of the Weasleys are otherwise occupied, this most serious and humble man has offered his assistance." He looked down and she could feel the vibrations of his voiced concern.

"Are you sure you feel well enough to be discharged? You look pale."

The smile she gives him is blinding. "I am perfectly fine, Remus. The ElEmPort was triggered with the lack of brainwave stimulation and brought me to St. Mungo's before Mr. Hearthsly had a chance to do… whatever it was he had in mind." She is pulled closer at that and Remus's fingers are just shy of bruising.

"Well now, I don't believe you will have to worry about him again," he resolutely ignores Hermione's eyes as they narrow at his wording. "As to your cottage, the Aurors have left it relatively unmolested, and your black havoc rocks-"

"-Holographic and Alternating Visual Observation Compensator _Crystals._ And they're onyx," she interrupts immediately, "not 'black'."

"-Have escaped their attention…" here he looks sheepish. "Mostly. Well, all but the largest. I was unable to shut it down, there wasn't exactly a manual laying about, and had to vanish-" he waits for her verbal assault to die down before continuing, "-that one."

Giving a nod to Raspian who continued up the street, Remus turns a corner and side-along apparates the two of them to her cottage grounds. Heading towards the door he continues to defend himself with limited success.

"Necessary? You call your action necessary!" She paces the length of the area between din and kitchen before going to the counter where the onyx crystalline hub should have rested. "That crystal represented hours, no, _years_ of research and development. The fields of Charms, Transfigurations, and _Spells_ had to advance to a point where the technology could even be integrated. And a 'time-loop'? Don't be silly. You were experiencing something close to a virtual reality setting, _time_ was not repetitive… Although, I will grant you the interesting side affect that was the creation of a _visual_ loop." With a muttered 'time-loop' and a snort, she moves resolutely to her stove, "And just wh_e_re is my kettle?"

Remus looks rather adorable with a hand rubbing the back of his neck to further rumple his appearance, but she isn't about to bring it up. Not when she wants answers.

"Well… Fred and George, Harry and I, we managed to extract the history of unidentified wand cores, but with the amount of Magical Law Enforcement personnel and the time it took…" He shrugs, "I'm afraid that it melted. Ah, but-!" He disappears into the guest room before walking back with a box he presents to her with a flourish. "The Kettle-Mate II."

With a laugh she goes about making tea in a very new kettle. Caffeine would be needed if she plans on starting the process of recreating the H.A.V.O.C. hub. Doing her best to ignore the hovering werewolf, she cannot help but pause at the once empty, now fully stocked refrigerator.

"Yes you're right. Go and sit down, shoo. I can handle this. Now, what would you like for lunch?"

"Remus…?" Her refrigerator had been completely empty, hadn't it? Yes, she was almost positive the only things in there had been a pint of milk (half full), a small bowl of cottage cheese (mostly gone), and a container of take-away that might have been Thai at one point (which, most definitely, grown mold). She shouldn't be surprised, the last time she was out of commission both her fridge and cupboards had been completely restocked. Like magic. Or overprotective brothers. And Remus.

One of these days she's going to take it as insulting commentary about her ability to take care of herself.

"You know Hermione," he starts after making sure she was resting at the small kitchen table. "It has come to my attention you could do with a bit of added security." His voice is light as he takes down a pot from the hanging island.

"Yeah? Well, considering the unintentional side affect of my H.A.V.O.C. Crystals I'm thinking it might provide a useful trap. I wonder if I could designate a small area of space to capture unwanted visitors at the door. Hm, I would have to eliminate the redundancy and allow outside visibility to the entrapped. Oh, and the ability to turn it off on command…" Her eyes are unseeing as they track the play of light on steam from a china cup that floats her way.

"Hm." He nods slightly when he sees her take a cautious sip before turning back to ingredients she has already classified as soup-makings. "Perhaps. But that will take time to develop. What you need is something effective immediately. An added measure so you can rest easy tonight."

She focuses on his hand's rhythmic movements of knife on carrot. "You know, if that crystal was still available I would have been given the visual proof of _how_ he managed to get inside my cottage. How did he get around my wards? He couldn't have apparated and he shouldn't have had any idea where my cottage is. Though I suppose that one is easy enough to get around if you're one to lurk around waiting for Owl Post." Her voice trails off on another thought and her eyes shoot to his profile. "How about an explanation as to why the MediHealer and helpful Aurors didn't seem to know about Mr. Hearthsly, but you've given the impression you do?"

"From what Kingsley, Nym, and Harry have told me it appears that he slowly wore a hole near your vegetable garden." A vegetable garden that has been almost completely neglected. She would get around to it one of these days. "They think he started several months ago, when WaterHeart Laboratories fired him for misconduct and you had shown no intentions of granting him an interview."

And it is true what Remus said, she wasn't about to hire someone from her competitor's company. She had enough honor not to use insider information, but Hermione would rather not let speculation spread. Plus, she had already tried giving him a job once- she wasn't about to do so a second time.

"The spell he used was one they had been in the process of creating for the Ministry."

'In the process', because it apparently takes time Magical Law Enforcement officers normally don't have.

"I've mended the hole and added a few wards myself, as have Harry and Kingsley." He adds, tapping the cutting board with his knife to get the last few bits of carrot into the pot.

"What was he after?"

He doesn't answer for several minutes, busying himself instead with his task and seeming to weigh damning evidence against her need for a resolution. A quick glance sees lines of displeasure around her compressed mouth. "Advancement. Apparently he had a habit of taking credit for ideas not his own."

"How did WaterHeart miss _that_? They have a department practically dedicated to researching upcoming prospects." Why didn't _her_ investigation come up with such plagiarism and theft? "Why didn't he go to my lab? Honestly, I only very rarely bring something home." Remus's lips curl in mirth and she rolls her eyes. Right. Because her paranoia of home security is nothing in comparison to her company and she is _always_ working. Smug git.

"Why didn't he go after any of our other employees?"

"The only ones with clearance to leave the laboratories with blue prints are Fred, George and the two of us. Because George is only a consultant of SSP and Fred's department lies in other avenues, it would have been unlikely for either of them to have documentation of Ministry-commissioned projects."

"That's what he was after specifically? Then with the choice between your house or mine…" _Yes_, she thinks, resting chin in hand as she watches him make quick work of the potatoes. She wouldn't have wanted to try her hand at breaking and entering at a werewolf bachelor pad either. "Hm. Would have been better to go after smaller projects, and remain completely anonymous, rather than a handful of larger ones." So not only was he a thief, he was an incompetent one at that. "How long has he been carrying on like this?"

"He started small. Keeping third parties involved with the developments of spells and charms that would have been useful in deconstruction."

"For a profit of course," she guesses.

"Yes. Apparently he started to get into trouble two years ago when he couldn't deliver. WaterHeart came across a type of synthetic byproduct, that when ignited by any type of spell casting, works much like Gubraithian Fire. The substance is somewhat pliable, but adheres to skin like it's part sticking charm."

"Merlin. That wasn't what they were after, surely?"

It is a horrifying thought. There had been six years of relative peace within the Wizarding communities across the northern hemisphere that had only just started a slow deterioration of crime. She could see no need for something that sounded like the magical version of napalm mixed with C4.

"It was why he decided to work for them. He had orders to steal the documentation." And there would have been plenty, with a discovery like that. Adryan Blackwater and Juniper Heartsmare are as fanatical as she when it comes to archiving. "But WaterHeart had been trying to create a synthetic gland from the Antipodean Opaleye."

A dragon's gland? Oh. Around the time she graduated from Hogwarts a new potion had been published in _The Traveling Alchemist_, exploring the use of large magical reptilian creatures. She found the Algerian Potion Master's article highly suspect, but it had caught on with the public a year or so ago. Perhaps WaterHeart had been contracted to make a more viable option of ingredients than the outrageously expensive, and somewhat illegal, authentic materials. She wonders if they used muggle cloning for cellular growth. Such a study would be fascinating, she thinks and her mind continues down this path.

There is a companionable silence as Remus continues to put the stew together and Hermione drinks her tea. Chamomile. Bleh. She would much rather have a cup of black Ceylon tea.

"Now, it'll be a little while before you can eat. To bed with you."

"Why Remus, I though you'd never ask. Wait, what are you doing? Stop!" Though, there is laughter in her voice as she is herded towards her room. "I'm not sick, Remus. There wasn't even an explosion this time. Or noxious gas. There's nothing wrong with me at all- not even a headache."

"No, but you've been in hospital for three days. I know the Healer would want you abed. I heard that nice lady at the front desk giving you a lecture. If you absolutely _have_ to ignore bed-rest, you will be forced to take it easy. At the least you should take a shower and change. I have a sensitive nose, you know."

The door is promptly shut in his face.

"I'll just wait out here then," comes his muffled voice.

__________

Alone in the quiet of her room, when amusement fades, she can't help the nervous anxiety that overtakes her. Someone had broken into her _home_. Her sanctuary. It has been invaded and she has been attacked inside it. By a thieving, no-good, back-stabbing, _rat_ of a man. One that had almost been counted among her people. A man who could have been one of her employees, given access to all her work. One who could have been trusted. It is an unsettling thought.

Her hand flicks a security charm around her room before she heads into the master bathroom. The critical eyes given to the space are ones that haven't been seen in some time. Before she disrobes and enjoys the warm water, she reviews exits and escape plans that had been created when she was looking to buy the property. They are reevaluated, added to or discarded, and all the while she repeats the thought of extra wards set by Remus, Harry, _and_ Kingsley. That Remus is keeping watch just beyond one opened and one closed door.

It helps, but she kept her shower short and her wand within reach. But the fact that Hermione is frightened in her own home has her so angry she managed to work herself into a decent snit by the time she emerges. Dressed in baggy jeans, woollen socks, and an oversized jersey she meets Remus's eyes with a steady gaze.

"Where is he? What spell did he use, how did he create a hole in the warding. How was it found, how did you repair it, and why exactly _wasn't_ he handed over to the Auror Department?"

Remus pushes away from his position of leaning against the wall across her door and nods towards the living room. The explanations will probably take longer than he is willing for Hermione to stand about and he knows the soup will be done soon.

He watches her sit in her favorite chair and has to take a breath as late afternoon sun plays in her hair. Three days ago, she had been seated there, just there, before being attacked. Three days ago he had entered the projection and been caught. Three days ago he had watched her get up from this spot, and watched as afternoon sun brought prism colour to brown hair. He was made to watch as a man tried to kill her.

"Remus?" Her voice brings him back to reality and he sits across from her. He focuses on the way her eyes are fixed on his, watches as steady hands bring the once-folded quilt closer about her body. There is no book, no attacker making his way silently towards them, no pressing thought of her small body laying motionless on a hospital bed as he is trapped. This is not three days ago, and here, now, she is safe.

"Let's see," he starts, "I have contacted WaterHeart and they have already sent promise that you can look at the paperwork they have on the spell. The device he used has been recovered, though not before Harry and Kingsley both had Messers Blackwater and Heartsmare take a look at the actual damage done to your warding. The disruption had been temporary, and once the spelled device had been properly shut down, your wards were whole again. Almost instantly. They were unable to tell Kingsley if this was because of the strength of the wards or an effect of the device."

A soft chime interrupts and Remus goes into the kitchen, and after a few domestic spells he returns with two trays. Hermione picks up her spoon and blows on the now customary Vegetable After-Soup. One of these days she really should bring up the fact she is perfectly capable of cooking for herself once out of the hospital. She would have brought it up before now, but he _was_ the better cook.

"The device was found when Trainee-Auror Keegan stumbled about the tree line next to your garden. Looks rather like one of those solar-powered lawn lights, or at least that's how she reported it. It was giving off a faint magical reading that somehow affected the ward."

"Probably some type of device that emits a negative energy field…" Her words are soft and, before she can be lost in thought, he continues.

"That may be, you'll see soon enough." And with this she smiles before letting spoon touch lip. "As to Mr. Hearthsly…?"

He shifts slightly, looking away from her as he concentrates on his own bowl. "Harry and Nym officially reported that his apartment had signs of a struggle, and his snapped wand had been left by the door."

"How'd they get the case? Shouldn't they have been pulled?"

"Kingsley allowed them to investigate despite a conflict of interest. Wasn't much he or Williamson could do to dissuade them without pulling full rank and taking their badges, so to speak, for the next month or so. As the Minister-elect a few years back he had the pull, and as the Boy-Who-Lives Harry still has the power to get away with a lot."

"Unhn." She isn't surprised. "So that's the official report. What about the unofficial?" There is a silence that stretches between them and she refuses to look away. The sunlight has moved during their conversation and has dusted his skin with gold and lightened the silver in his hair. "If you don't tell me, I'll go and hunt down Harry."

They both knew it wasn't an empty threat, so he continues with a sigh. "Mr. Hearthsly _is_ being held, but Kingsley has managed to quieten the department while Williamson caterers to the public. There's an on-going investigation into the so-far unnamed third party that hired him. Turns out Hearthsly was next to useless in terms in information, but what they managed to get out of him during interrogation has confirmed some of the more disturbing undercover Auror reports."

"Wait, you mean there's a ring of…?"

No, she thinks with a frown, that would make little sense. While a crime, the M.L.E. wouldn't go to such lengths to keep a group of scheming plagiarists a secret, not if it didn't lead to something larger. Something…

"Still Waters."

She has Remus's undivided attention.

"A few months ago, the M.L.E. contracted SmokeScreen. They wanted a device that would reproduce a positive energy shield. Portable. Far stronger than any shielding spell taught at the Academy. One that would work continually, something that would allow them the ease of casting through the shield without having to focus on maintaining it. It was something Alastor and I had tried years ago, but the amount of power consumption rendered anything we came up with useless within seconds. We tried to create a self-generating spell that would allow the shield to work, but it-"

"-ended up putting you both out of commission. The EmGE." He remembers the pale faces of several Order members the night he came back from a mission, the quiet hallway leading towards the makeshift hospital wing within Grimmauld. Of the two, Mad-Eye had suffered the least with twenty-seven completely shattered bones, a punctured lung, third degree burns and internalized bleeding.

At his pronunciation of 'm-gee' she automatically corrects with 'ElectroMagical Generating Emitter' before she seat her bowl down in excitement.

"It's something I've gone back to. Just every now and again," she says ignoring his narrowed eyes and filtering out the thought of the many who would have still been alive had she succeeded.

"But Remus-" she turns to him, and the momentary sadness is replaced in the rush of a new discovery. "-I've recently come across a book that tells of an artifact created before Merlin's time. The power of the stars, concentrated into a small object you could hold in the palm of your hands." She shifts in her seat, leaning forward. "It was there, all the time! From doctrines on Ch'an meditation, to the legend of Atlantis, all the way down to Der Froschkonig oder der eiserne Heinrich. Though it's hardly the first to reduce a magical artifact to an item in a fairy tale."

She looks down and quickly pushed the children's book towards him, nearly knocking both bowls of soup off the table. "Where the princess's golden ball the lost down the frog's well." Lost in a pool of black still waters and a glow the princess could track despite the great depth. "It was there all the time."

"The EmGE?"

"Yes, yes." She answers, a hand waving in the air as if impatient. "I've been trying to recreate the incomplete instructions. To figure out how to make it work, especially since now there's definite proof that it can. But that's not the point, Remus." Her mind is already refocusing. "The M.L.E. is. The shielding device they want. I mean, they shouldn't have known of the work Alastor and I did, but it was Kingsley and… but with some of the other… Remus, those undercover Aurors, they've not reported some type of Death Eater upsurge have they?"

"Nothing concrete."

"Nimue's sword."

There is silence as the two finish their soup, and soon the topic changes and an easier atmosphere takes hold of the cottage. And while Hermione still has questions, and Remus has a lecture or two waiting in the wings, they spent the rest of the day in comfortable banter. When the late noon sun disappears behind the line of trees and night sets upon them, a knock proceeds a large group of Weasleys, Shacklebolts, and Potters. The night is filled with good food and laughter. And although Hermione manages to corner Kingsley for answers, and Remus manages to have a whispered conversation with Harry, Fred and George, the party is still light and fun.

When the cottage quiets in the hours near midnight, Hermione is once more curled up in her chair. With her quilt wrapped her about for warmth the dying fire was unable to provide, she looks about the room. Hours past, Molly had insisted on cleaning up before she left with Arthur, and between cleaning spells managed to slip the leftover feast into a rather full fridge. As the night wore on, and without the driving matriarchal force that is Molly Weasley, someone brought out a few bottles of alcohol and the stories of long past grew boastful and raunchy. George and Charlie took center stage. Now she sits alone listening to the sound of thunder as a front moves in.

"Here," the voice is more a rumbling command as a small cup is placed gently in her hands.

Well, mostly alone, is her amended thought, alone with Remus who has made no movement towards the door despite the late hour. At the first sip of the warm brew she contemplates getting rid of the small stash of chamomile tea. Come to think of it, not once in seven years has she bought chamomile leaves to be used tea or potion. A mystery easily solved once linked kitchen provisions. Sneaky wolf, because nobody else would try to replace her tea.

"You know, I've been thinking…" he starts.

"Always a troubling sign," she quips.

"And despite the extra wards we've placed," he continues, thinking about Kingsley and not a few other Aurors, "it has come to my attention that you could still do with an addition to your security."

She watches as he perches on the edge of the cushion across from her and frowns at the familiar words.

"Now, I think with just those new wards you'd be fine. Hearthsly was apprehended, and while not in the public eye, he won't escape the many precautions taken with his person. But I'm sure you'll agree that it is troubling that he managed to find a way through them, regardless. That coupled with the thought of Death Eaters, or a group like them, starting to kick up a fuss you would want something a bit more expedient and tangible to help sleep come tonight."

She agrees with him so far and shifts in her own seat to mirror him. Two cups of mostly untouched tea is discarded on the table between them.

"See, I've talked it over with some of the others and managed to talk Head Aurors Kingsley and Williamson out of assigning a rotation of protectors, and I've talked Harry and Ron out of camping on your doorstep or dragging you off to their place."

"Much appreciated."

"But this leaves us with just one viable option."

Her thought of 'it does?' may or may not have been voiced. And as he takes a breath to continue she can't help but think she might not actually agree with his next point.

"You need a guard dog."

_Absolutely not_, is her immediate thought, and despite the fact that her cottage is without a feline, she is -and will always be- a cat person. The moment of silence given to Crookshanks is probably just observed in her head.

"Well, more like guard-wolf, in this case."

Oh.

Oh! She may be willing to make an exception to the cat-rule.

With her silence he stands and goes to pace, verbalized reasons filling the air.

And as he pleaded his case- 'guestrooms are there for a reason' and 'you won't even know I'm here' is followed with him telling her it would hardly be the 'first time' they depended upon the other in 'the comfort of rest'- she watches him. He stalks before the low embers of the hearth and glides behind the couch. She listens as he tells her how such a move will 'reassure Harry and Ron both' of her 'continued safety', and how this way Molly will be sure she'll 'have a decent meal'. When he moves on to how intrusive a round-the-clock monitor could be, if he is kicked out, she is unimpressed but willing to concede. The idea of an extra body in her cottage isn't completely undesirable, and the thought of him across the hall would be reassuring. It is a vulnerability she wouldn't have to feel, not with him there.

After a nod to nothing but the acceptance of her own decision, she reaches out at his next pass to grab a white cotton sleeve. "You can stay, but you're making me breakfast," was all she said, and the way the tension falls from his body sealed the deal. They leave the barren hearth, and after taking her cup of tea to the kitchen, they both say good night and each head to their own bed.

When dawn's light filters though thin curtains an hour or so later, and both have found sleep fitful, Remus knocks softly on her door. He hears her answer, as he heard her body tossing before, and walks in. When door closes behind him he flicks the wand in his hand towards yellow linen curtains, their colour darkening to block the morning as he slips under the covers.

"I'm sorry if I kept you awake, I just can't seem to relax enough." Her words are full of tired frustration, and he wonders if the hand she has under her pillow touches an unseen wand. And when she takes a breath to continue, he pulls her towards him, quieting her words with a small sound she can feel.

His hands smooth her hair away from his nose and trail down her arms.

It isn't the first time they have shared a bed for comfort and security, and the rhythmic motions of heart and breath lull the tension from of her body. Remus finds that he cannot relax enough for sleep, and with his senses focused completely on the witch in his arms, he tries to not think of the way she was almost lost to him.

She has a history of driving those around her mad with worry, always taking such risks on the clock and off. In her laboratories, being a brilliant Mistress of Spells and Potions, and in the side jobs that had nothing to do with their company and everything to do with making the world a safer place. Like the comfort they were known to take from the other, this isn't the first time she has been sent home from the hospital. This isn't the first time her body has been cursed or bruised or broken. It isn't the first time he is worried about how she forgot her body existed in the wake of a new discovery or a successful find. The way trouble finds her, always. The way she holds her small body tall and strong like an Amazonian Warrior, ready to take on the world when nobody else will. The way she gives and laughs and loves.

She has changed in many ways over the years, this witch. His witch.

His arms tighten at the thought of her body, motionless and pale on a hospital bed. The memory of the first garbled message telling him she was at St. Mungo's cause something dark and powerful to shift in his eyes. He flashes back to the years before and pictures her in a different bed, fighting for a breath the Healers were certain she would not take.

She makes a small sound he understands to be exasperation, "You're thinking to loud." Her words are rough with the need for sleep and his laughter has a rumbling catch that makes her smile. "Now remember, you've promised to fix me breakfast." She says and can't help but think of ways to draw out his cooking duties. He really is the better cook. "Can't have a half asleep Remus in charge of my stove. Only one allowed to fall asleep at first meal is me, Moony."

"Is it now?"

"Indeed." There is a pause and she shifts slightly in his arms, her eyes seeking his in the dark. "What were you thinking about?"

"Your crystal," and how he might not be holding her had she lost her stubborn drive to both bend rules and follow procedure.

"You could have banished it to the labs, you know. The receiving hub only works up to fifty yards. There was no need to completely destroy months of work."

His fingers tightened in a curl of wild hair, "I'll help you this time."

"Too right." It is a satisfied sounding answer, "It's your turn to work the numbers and pair the equations to the ordinarily mundane crystal. The runes as well. All eighty-seven levels of them, a hundred rows per level, each rune no larger than two millimeters. Hand carved, no wand." He makes a noise and this time she's the one laughing. The hand on his arm gives a pat and he can practically hear the 'there, there, it won't be that bad' without her speaking a word.

"You know, we're going to have to talk about this later." And while her body doesn't tense, it does still at his casual comment.

She doesn't want to talk about this now, not when she finds herself exhausted regardless of the way she spent the last three days. She should know better, really, than to start any conversation in bed. Maybe that should be a new rule of theirs. No conversations when one party is expected to present compete agreement with a given statement, or in need of presenting an intellectual argument against it. But she already knows what he will say, knows how she will respond. It would not be much of a loss in independence, she reasons, if she tells him what experiments she would be working on at home. The note she would have inevitably tucked between a few reports on his desk probably would have worked, had Hearthsly decided to hold off his invasion a few weeks.

Oh well, while she had wanted to present a working, fully functioning prototype, the surprise is more for her benefit than his. For all of his support in her endeavors, he really knows how to worry. Still…

"Later Remus. Don't you know that Healer Robbards prescribed bed rest and at least seven hours of sleep for the next few nights?" It is, sadly, a state of being he manages to tack onto every stay as his patient. Every time they ran into each other on the street, as well. Honestly, she reflects, the man has a tendency to act as if she misses sleep on a regular basis.

"Good man, Sean."

"Yeah, yeah." A yawn takes over her next words, and a soft noise of contentment hums from Hermione as she manages to find The Spot. The perfect angle of comfort. Remus knows it is a lost cause after that, and the slow beat of her heart and her steady breath tells him she was already asleep.

As he feels the warmth of her body, as she shifts away from her hidden wand and turns towards him, as he finds himself relaxing for the first time in three days, and as his eyes close in relief, he knows. Knows this was it. Knows this is where he wants to be, at her side, for as long as she wills. He could be her companion, her lover, her helper and she could be his mate.

They will talk in the morning and he will do everything in his power to convince her he should stay. He will do his best to make her see that while things between them might not have always been easy, they have never been wrong. And while he will always be a part of her life, now he wants the chance to make her life his.

In truth it is a battle already won, but for the moment they sleep, continent and secure in each other's warmth.

-end

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Author's End Notes:

Nymphadora Tonks, who has married Kingsley, took his last name as part of her own. 'Nym' is a nickname the cast managed to beat her into responding to, and 'Tonks' is reserved for moments of reminiscing or endearment. You don't want to know what Kingsley calls her, you wouldn't survive repeating it anyway.

The Chloroleoht Room at Grimmauld is a mix of the prefix _chloro_- for green and Old English _leoht_ meaning illuminating light; thus it was called the Green-Light Room, which may or may not have been named out of desperation for finding spells and charms to block a certain Unforgivable.

The many magical devices and technical mumbo-jumbo have been completely made up and I would like to claim ownership, but it's fanfiction, so use it as you will. Also, they have been heavily inspired by Stargate, so I couldn't claim them anyway. Points for those of you who might have recognized the 'individual shielding device' as a function of Goa'uld hand devices and the 'EmGE' as a ZPM.


End file.
